The tranquility was broken by large, heavy footsteps, with no intention whatsoever of hiding.
The herbivorous semihumans began settling on the lower terraces, where the slope was starting to become covered with plants carrying a density of mana those beings had never seen in their lives.
They did not raise walls.
They drove stakes into the ground. They built the first shelters from wood and leaves, simple yet sturdy. At the center stood the leader's shelter, adorned with the head of a leonidas, an unquestionable symbol of his authority and power.
They marked the boundaries with stones and ancient symbols.
The settlement was a challenge.
In the savanna, every piece of land was contested with blood, massive horns, muscles, and hooves.
The right to remain there was not requested.
It was conquered through strength.
From a high ledge, Lusian watched in silence.
Selvryn stood beside him, motionless like a root exposed to the wind. Her eyes carefully swept across the camps: improvised corrals, small bonfires, semihuman children sleeping together to preserve warmth.
"It would be better to attack at night. Fast and lethal," she finally said. "I'll prepare the troops."
Lusian looked at her. Whenever it concerned the Mother Tree, that dark elf became irrational.
"We'll talk first. If dialogue fails, we'll use force."
She wanted to protest, but Lusian did not allow it.
"Lives are important. As long as they do not cross the boundaries… everything will be fine."
For days, nothing happened.
The herbivores cultivated, gathered, and grazed without trying to climb the mountain. The rumors that death lurked there were enough; fear proved stronger than hunger.
And whenever one of them raised their gaze toward the heights… they did so with respect, not desire.
Selvryn frowned.
"The Tree needs the forest to grow. With that plague devouring the sprouts, it will take years to expand."
"It's only a matter of time," Lusian corrected. "Besides, they serve as a kind of shield. The forest can grow from the summit downward; there's no need to be intolerant."
Selvryn looked at him with disapproval.
"You are an irresponsible father."
Lusian barely smiled, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.
"And you are an overprotective mother."
The problem of the savanna was the constant search for food.
The herbivores needed mana-rich plants, and they always ended up moving toward wherever it was abundant.
They began as barely a hundred.
Soon they became a thousand.
The settlements grew with painful slowness. Elders transported in improvised carts. Children wrapped in worn cloth. The younger ones guarded the roads, out of fear of war… out of fear of being discovered by the carnivores.
None crossed the mountain's natural boundary.
But it was only a matter of time.
From above, the Mother Tree remained silent.
But the savanna… did not.
The reports arrived without urgency, as tragedies often do before they even know their own name.
The carnivorous herds began to move. Predatory semihumans, hungry.
Their prey — the weakest ones — had stopped wandering the savanna in search of food. Now they were gathered in a single place.
That made hunting more difficult.
And their former territories… were empty.
Prey that was no longer there.
One night, while the wind descended carrying dry dust, the commotion began.
The carnivorous semihumans, driven by hunger, attempted to attack the settlements.
And they failed.
In the savanna, herbivores were usually scattered, forced to compete among themselves for every sprout of mana. There were always stragglers. Isolated children. Exhausted elders. Vulnerable prey.
But there… everything had changed.
Food was abundant. They no longer needed to separate in order to survive.
The herbivores remained together, protected by absurd numbers, forming a mass of muscles, horns, and hooves impossible to break head-on.
The predators realized too late that the old rules no longer worked.
Attacking now was almost suicide.
Some died crushed beneath hooves. Others fled wounded into the darkness of the savanna.
And that night, without anyone declaring it, a new order was born.
Selvryn spoke without taking her eyes off the valley.
"The numbers keep increasing. There are more mouths to feed every day. They will damage the forest's growth."
"Not yet," Lusian replied. "They are only delaying it."
She turned toward him.
"Are we really going to do nothing? There are more of them every day."
Lusian kept his gaze fixed on the camps stretching below at the foot of the mountain.
"As long as they do not climb the mountain… we are not part of this."
The silence that followed was not comfortable.
Because both of them knew that war was almost inevitable.